


Defence of the Realm

by vvj5 (lost_spook)



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/vvj5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems inevitable that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart and Harry Pearce of MI5 would run into each other at some point.  Two loyal servants of the realm.  Let the game commence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defence of the Realm

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere post _Battlefield_ for the Brigadier and post _Spooks_ 5.6 for Harry Pearce.
> 
>  _Spooks_ (or MI5 elsewhere) is a UK drama series. If you haven't seen Spooks S5 and plan to, this contains spoilers.
> 
> A note on continuity: From _Aliens of London_ , Spooks and Doctor Who continuity don't match (well, not without a lot of squinting and not worrying about details) but setting this early 2006 should work. Mind you, _Battlefield_ doesn't fit with anything much, either!)

_“I like the niceties – they protect us from tyranny.”_ (Harry Pearce)

***

It was growing late but Harry Pearce wasn’t moving from his desk in Thames House. Not that there was anything unusual about this. He withdrew his gaze from the still-vacant desk visible through the glass panels of his office and returned to the business in hand.

Inexplicable technology, possibly alien. Not really the territory of MI5, but he didn’t trust anyone else with it. He studied the papers on his desk for the sixteenth time and frowned. There were avenues he could pursue, of course, but he wasn’t overly keen on most of them. Still, he thought, there was a sideways approach that might pay off.

Officially, Harry Pearce ran MI5’s Section D by the book. Unofficially, he was far too good a spook to do anything so damned silly.

He picked up the phone.

*

“Alastair,” said Doris, sounding reproachful, as she came in search of him, sitting in the comfy chair in the lounge and finishing off a crossword. “There’s someone on the phone for you – MI5, he said.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “Well, that’s new.”

“You haven’t been doing anything foolish, have you?”

He smiled. “Not enough to attract the attention of the security services. I shouldn’t think so. Didn’t you tell the fellow I was retired?”

“He said that was precisely why he’d phoned,” she told him. “I should have told him he’d got the wrong number, shouldn’t I?”

The Brigadier laughed. “If he really is from MI5, he’d never have believed you.”

He sighed and supposed he had better talk to the dratted spy.

*

“Good of you to come,” said Harry, moving across to shake his hand as they met beside the Thames the next morning. “Your reputation’s impressive, to say the least. It’s an honour.”

“Is it?” Lethbridge-Stewart responded. “I’d return the compliment, but while I recognised the name, I imagine you prefer to keep out of the limelight.”

Harry gave a wry smile. “In my line of work, it’s a necessity. And you’ve had some experience of that sort of thing, haven’t you?”

“UNIT?” the Brigadier said warily. “In your position – you could have gone directly to them - I’m retired.”

Harry shrugged. “They’re not always as co-operative as they might be. And then they’re an international organisation, which can cause issues-”

“I thought that was supposed to be a good thing,” he observed wryly.

Harry smiled. “I don’t trust anyone without a written recommendation.”

“Well, what did you want?” he asked. 

Harry was still unsure what to make of the man. He was a spook, which was an automatic strike against him, but the Brigadier was a practical man and he had a better idea than most of the necessity for a secret service. He also had a respect for anyone who willingly risked their lives in defence of their country for a living. Harry Pearce was impossible to judge on appearances, but then that was another given for a man who must have been a successful field officer in his day.

He coughed. “It’s a little irregular, sir. We’ve picked up something of unidentified origin. A weapon of some sort. The last time we were this baffled, it turned out to be alien. We had the help of one of your people – called himself the Doctor.”

“Did you really?” The Brigadier had to bite back a smile, wondering how the Doctor had dealt with a group of MI5 officers. He’d liked to have seen that.

Harry nodded. “I gather you worked with him.”

“Forgive me,” said the Brigadier, still genuinely puzzled by this roundabout way of approaching the problem, “but if you wanted the Doctor, why didn’t you get in touch with UNIT? Admittedly, I doubt it’d have been any use, but still -”

He said, “I explained my issues about contacting them directly. And the member of my staff who might have been able to get indirect access is no longer with us. I thought that if you couldn’t put us in touch, you could take a look at the thing.”

“Happy to, but I'm not sure I'll be much help,” Lethbridge-Stewart said, still unsure of what the other wanted. “And you’re right: I can’t get hold of the Doctor. He turns up when and where he pleases. Always has done.”

Harry grimaced slightly. “Yes, I got that impression. However, I can’t go to the JIC and tell them we may have a problem with aliens. I need to have confirmation that this object is extraterrestrial and then I can hand it over to the appropriate authorities.”

“I've no objection,” he returned. “However, you would be much better taking it to UNIT.”

Harry Pearce said, “And I will, gladly, if I can confirm that it is alien. If it’s not and I hand it over to an international military organisation – I’m sure you can see the potential ramifications.”

“Of course,” he said. 

The Brigadier recalled where he’d heard the man’s name most recently – not in the sort of circumstances that any MI5 officer would rejoice in, let alone a high-ranking one. There’d been an arrest, hadn’t there? He’d been released and another member of his section arrested or killed or some such – a traitor in the ranks. He vaguely recollected the story on the news; hadn’t paid much attention to the shenanigans of the secret service, other than to shake his head. 

“Besides,” added Harry, “the only other option was Torchwood and I avoid that lot like the plague. I wouldn’t trust them with an ice lolly, let alone an alien weapon.”

 _So_ , thought the Brigadier, _they might have some things in common._

*

Lethbridge-Stewart had been exactly what Harry Pearce had expected. 

To be honest, there was no need for imagination, given that he was a relatively high-profile figure and therefore always under a watchful eye. Still, it was cheering to know that he’d not made a mistake – a discreet old soldier with a courteous manner (that currently might mask suspicion or amusement). No doubt there were stories he could tell, but wouldn’t. Harry reflected that they probably had a good deal in common, although he would presumably take that as an insult, coming from a spook who made a living out of deceit.

Nevertheless, he’d glanced at his file this morning and his admiration for the man was genuine, which meant he was spared the usual insincerity of initial greetings. Neither was he conniving, insanely ambitious, unstable or treacherous - a refreshing change to the company he’d been keeping of late.

“If you’ll come with me,” Harry said, polite himself, “I’ll show you the item in question. Sorry to hurry you, but the Home Secretary wants an explanation by this afternoon and you know what politicians are like.”

He smiled for the first time. “Yes, I believe I do.”

Of course, thought Harry, it was doubtful that he’d saved the planet, as Lethbridge-Stewart seemed to have done, but they’d both sacrificed family life for duty and faced difficult decisions daily. Both had been arrested more than once in the course of following that duty. However, he’d married again in his retirement and Harry’s hope of that was dead and buried. (No, he corrected himself, she might be dead to him, dead to MI5, but in the literal sense that mattered the most, she was alive, somewhere.)

He wondered, too, what he would make of the today’s dilemma of waging a war on terror. He was, after all, a soldier. Maybe, he’d agree with the politicians and others in the security services that Harry’s fondness for the small things in life (like freedom, democracy, law-keepers practicing what they preached and so on) was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

Yes, he would know about that, because no matter what the politicians claimed, it wasn’t a new question. _Things have changed_ , they said, _we don’t have to play nicely anymore_. And, yes, some things did, but not that. That question had been there in one shape or another for centuries; the dilemma that faced every defender of the realm, whether he fought an underhand war of tricks from behind a desk or stood out in the field and faced the enemy. He didn’t forget it, though they wanted him to.

Principles, thought Harry, were uncomfortable things to have to live with, but they were all he seemed to have left. That, and a pair of cats who hadn’t taken to him or his dog. They weren’t always that easy to live with, either.

*

“Good Lord,” said the Brigadier as Harry Pearce unwrapped his alien artefact. They were both in one of MI5’s safe houses – a shabby, terraced house with dirty magnolia walls that could have done with a fresh coat of paint. “What’s that doing here? Who found it?”

He paused. “You know what it is?”

“Oh, I recognise it,” he returned, surveying what he remembered only too well as a Cyberman’s gun. “Where did you find this?”

He said, “Someone fished it out of the river. Dating it seemed to be a problem. I set one member of my team to the task, but even he was stumped, which was why I thought I’d better seek advice. Malcolm’s not usually at a loss when it comes to gadgets. The lack of rust doesn’t seem to mean a great deal.”

“Let’s hope it’s been down there a while, then,” said the Brigadier. “If the thing that once owned it is anywhere around, then we’re in trouble. You’ll need to let UNIT know. They’ve got the ammunition to deal with that sort of things these days, although, even so -”

He covered it back up again. “Well, that was simpler than I hoped. Malcolm asked what it had been found with and he’s willing to hazard a guess it might have been down there for thirty years or so.”

“Hmm,” said the Brigadier. “Could be. Could well be.”

Harry frowned. “I’d like to be sure.”

“If you could tell me a little bit more about where exactly you found it, I might be able to help you with that,” he returned. 

The spook hesitated.

“Mr Pearce, I’ve seen a great many things in my time,” he said. “I’ve never knowingly broken the Official Secrets Act yet. You may be wise in not trusting your friends; I can’t comment on that, but you may trust me – in this instance at least. This was why you asked me here, wasn’t it?”

He smiled slightly. “I’ll get the details sent through.”

“Thank you,” said the Brigadier. “I imagine that you might well be feeling suspicious currently. One of your team turned out to be acting against you, I hear. It happens more often than we’d like to think.”

Harry only stared back at him and then pulled out his mobile, clearly not sharing the Brigadier’s unease with modern technology, nor willing to talk about his late officer. “Malcolm, get down here and bring everything you’ve got about that item of laundry, will you?”

He caught the other’s glance as he closed it with a snap. “Code,” he explained briefly.

“Yes,” said the Brigadier, “I have had to resort to it myself on occasion.”

*

Malcolm Wynn-Jones arrived, armed with a folder containing print-outs and photographs. He passed it over to the Brigadier with a small smile.

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” he said. “I’ve been aware of UNIT’s – er – exploits via a UFO group I keep under surveillance and I must say -”

Harry glared at his officer. “Malcolm.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Do you want me to stay or go back?”

Harry lifted his head. “Yes, get back to the grid. Call me if I’m needed.”

“Absolutely,” he said, with a last look at the Brigadier, now busy reading his way through the file. 

Harry smiled. “And, thank you, Malcolm.”

“One thing,” he said, taking advantage of his unbending. “I take it the thing is alien?”

Harry nodded.

“Knew it,” he said with satisfaction. “Nobody’s technology is that advanced yet. I’d know if it were.”

His boss considered reminding him that pride came before a fall, but left it unsaid.

*

“Yes,” said the Brigadier, closing the file. “I’d imagine that your chap there was right about the dating. Seems to be from an affair I helped to deal with myself, years back when UNIT was newly formed.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Any advice on destroying it?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said with a shrug. “Melt it down – I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“Doubtless Malcolm will,” he agreed. “He’s the Q of Section D, if you’ll excuse my joke.”

Lethbridge-Stewart straightened himself. “I daresay you’ll want me gone?”

“Well, that is the end of the official business,” Harry returned lightly. “On the other hand, if you’ve a moment to spare for a drink, perhaps we could swap a few stories and complain about the ineffable stupidity of politicians before I have to go and inform the only decent one left what conclusion we’ve come to.”

He hesitated, but then a thought crossed his mind. “Why not? However, if that’s the case, I insist you tell me about your meeting with the Doctor. I’m interested to know what he gets up to when I’m not around.”

“My pleasure,” said Harry.

*

Walking back down the Embankment, they ran into Juliet Shaw. Harry had hoped that the National Security Co-ordinator being wheelchair bound might have kept him safe from unexpected encounters, but apparently not.

He thought with some amusement that his sudden and inexplicable desire to meet with a retired military officer had evidently aroused some interest in high places. The world of espionage: everyone liked to at least have a reasonable idea of what everyone else was up to.

“Harry,” said Juliet, signalling to her companion to push her across, “what a pleasant surprise. I’m being taken out for an airing, as you see -.” She dismissed the suited man with a wave. “And who’s this?”

He said, “Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart.”

“Doubly a pleasure, then,” she said, holding out a hand, which the Brigadier shook carefully. “I’ve heard some good things about you. Of course, a few not so much to your credit, but that’s the nature of our work. Not too many in your case, you’ll be relieved to hear.”

Harry glanced at the soldier. “This is Juliet Shaw, my superior.”

“In all ways,” she returned sharply, then smiled at the Brigadier. “What brings you here?”

Harry glanced at the other man, but he only said, “I got in touch with Mr Pearce about a local matter. I’m sure he’ll keep you informed, should there be need.”

“Hmm. I wish I had your optimism.”

Harry interrupted. “Charming as this is, Juliet, we were on our way elsewhere – unless you have anything urgent for me?”

“No, Harry,” she said. “You’re not indispensable, whatever you might think.”

He acknowledged that with a turn of his head. “Of course.”

*

“Should I worry about the fate of the nation?” queried the Brigadier on leaving the formidable, dark-haired woman behind them.

He considered. “No. She’s a callous, amoral, manipulative, power-crazed right-wing maniac, but it could be worse." 

“I’m not entirely reassured,” the Brigadier returned with amusement.

“Well, I’d say her heart’s in the right place, but I can’t swear to it without an X-ray. And, thanks, by the way. I prefer to keep her in ignorance of one or two things.”

“My pleasure,” he said, returning the sentiment.

*

Harry was not a man of many words and neither, apparently, was Lethbridge-Stewart, so the stories they swapped were brief, but wry.

“Must be difficult,” ventured the Brigadier. “What with the way things have changed lately. Aside from any attacks, it must put pressure on the service.”

Harry gave an amused nod. “Oh, yes. And all the weaselly types come crawling out of their holes and suggest that it’s time to stop playing fair and being such awfully decent fellows.”

“Oh?”

Harry shrugged. “Isn’t it always the way? How far do you go in fighting the monsters?”

“Yes,” mused the Brigadier. Harry wondered why he seemed to find something entertaining about the question. “I’m sure it must put you in an awkward position.”

He said nothing. Lethbridge-Stewart had _no idea_. She had gone and he was no longer sure of those principles. Irony of ironies, she was gone and he was ruthless.

*

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” said the Brigadier, later. “What with that near _coup d’etat_ and the news about your mole, I’d imagined someone less efficient in charge.”

Harry Pearce considered the older man for a moment. His claim that he knew how to keep secrets was confirmed by his own organisation’s surveillance. Even so, what did he say? _“I’m leading a skeletal wreck of a section and those who haven’t fallen by the wayside are close to breaking point?”_ Not inspiring, was it? 

He glanced about him, because he was rarely out of watchful eyes and ears himself and gave a laugh. 

The Brigadier raised an enquiring eyebrow, evidently wondering what the joke might be.

“To be perfectly honest,” said Harry, “I don’t think you’d believe me. Even were I at liberty to disclose the details.”

“Been there myself – do the best job you can and manage to rescue the planet from the jaws of some alien or other and politicians or the press still see the operation as a failure.”

“They hanged one of my officers,” Harry said, quietly. “A desk spook; should never have been out in the field if the situation weren’t desperate.”

“And your traitor – not pleasant at the best of times.”

For someone of his experience, in his line of work, it shouldn’t hurt, but it did, despite that. Ruth Evershed, thought of by the world at large as a traitor whose death was only a convenience.

Harry glanced at the glass on the table. “Know what I got arrested for?”

“Not precisely, but -”

Harry leant forward. “I went to lunch with a colleague, threw a glass of water in his face, smashed it, and attacked him with it. Seemed to work.”

There was a moment of silence. The Brigadier raised an eyebrow cautiously.

“It was a special occasion,” Harry continued with a grin. “You’ll be glad to hear that, generally speaking, I’ve got impeccable table manners. Have you heard of Oliver Mace?”

“Something big in the JIC, I thought?” Lethbridge-Stewart said. “Lost his post recently. I met him once. Can’t say I liked the fellow.”

Harry gave a satisfied smile. “I thought you had good judgement. And she wasn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My officer,” he said. “She wasn’t a traitor, just bloody good at her job. Still, she’s dead, so she won’t care what they say.” He could safely go that far and it felt good to deny the charge aloud.

However, the older man smiled slightly. “But you do?”

Harry should have seen that coming. He got to his feet and excused himself. But yes, he did. And he had to. Every time. 

But this time it was Ruth – _Ruth_ – and he’d thought for a blindly optimistic few months or moments that she might be his happy ending. How many years in the service now? He really _should_ have known better.

“By the way,” said the Brigadier, before he could leave. “In answer to your question: You do what you have to. I have a feeling you know that very well.”

Harry pulled on his coat. Oh, yes. He _did_.

“Still, I daresay no one’s accused you of genocide,” he added. 

For once, Harry was surprised. It was a rare thing for a good spook. There was a look in the older man’s eyes that left him unable to work out whether it was some sort of joke or not.

“Don’t put it on my file,” said the Brigadier lightly. “Nice to meet you, Mr Pearce.”

*

The Brigadier wasn’t sure what to make of the morning, but it had got him out of the house and he’d had lunch, so not too bad. He frowned, though and wondered about making some enquiries of his own. Always good to have something constructive to do, and it wasn’t the weather for gardening.

“Interesting day,” was all he said when Doris asked him later.

She shook her head at him, but she knew when she wasn’t going to get a sensible answer out of him.

*

A year or so later, both received well-deserved knighthoods. 

Harry had everything to do with one honour and nothing to do with the other. No Mrs Pearce still to become Lady Pearce, only an old friend who knew him well enough to commiserate. The spying thing was in his blood, strong as ever, but at times he envied Lethbridge-Stewart, who’d got the chance to bow out before it was too late.

In their line of work, one was lucky to reach as far as he had, but the prospect of retirement had dropped out of sight and he had a feeling he was much more likely to be carried out of Section D in his coffin. Should he be permitted anything that dignified. Knowing him, he stood a better chance of being scraped off the pavement.

Still, he looked again at the envelope the old soldier had given him when they shook hands and read the details of one of UNIT’s newer recruits at Geneva, who bore an uncanny resemblance to someone he’d once known and he smiled to himself. 

He’d hold on a bit longer, he decided, as he destroyed the evidence. The only certain thing was that nothing was certain and he knew that better than most.

***

_“I just do the best I can.” _(Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart)__


End file.
